"We'll get the guards to help us," said Buggerie, hopefully. "And we'll have the cards burned in the furnace."
"All right, then," snapped the F. F. V., "let's go and get it over with."
In five minutes they were speeding down the broad avenue to the headquarters of the Anglo-Saxon Association of America. They parked the car in front of the gate and walked up the cinder road to the front door. It was a balmy, moonlight night, almost as bright as day. They looked around but saw no one.
"I don't see any of the guards around," Snobbcraft remarked, craning his neck. "I wonder where they are?"
"Probably they're inside," Buggerie suggested, "although I remember telling them to patrol the outside of the building."
"Well, we'll go in, anyhow," remarked Snobbcraft. "Maybe they're down stairs."
He unlocked the door, swung it open and they entered. The hall was pitch dark. Both men felt along the wall for the button for the light. Suddenly there was a thud and Snobbcraft cursed.
"What's the matter?" wailed the frightened Buggerie, frantically feeling for a match.
"Turn on that God damned light!" roared Snobbcraft. "I just stumbled over a man.... Hurry up, will you?"
Dr. Buggerie finally found a match, struck it, located the wall button and pressed it. The hall was flooded with light. There arranged in a row on the floor and neatly trussed up and gagged were the six special guards.